Back Drifting
by puts foot in mouth
Summary: AU.After falling on Mustafar, Obi-Wan awakens to the dubious reality of being trapped in the cloned body of his child self, and now has to cope with the reversed father/son relationship fostered upon him by the new Sith Lord.Darth Vader redemption story.
1. Awakening

**Back Drifting**

_Prologue: Awakening_

There was the sense of another consciousness. The sense that Obi-Wan had of it, was juvenile, underdeveloped and vastly curious. Yet, also familiar. As his consciousness was aligned with that of this other presence, he felt a melding of some kind as his memories and life experiences were shared with this new being.

In exchange he felt all the awe, wonder and fright that this motivated. The new consciousness, because Obi-Wan could not think of it as his own, was like a trip into his past as a padawan – a trip only travelled in feelings. He once again felt the easy anger of his youth as well as a myriad other emotions, alongside personal shortcomings that he had long since mastered. Anxious, that he was losing something vital in the exchange Obi-Wan tried to separate himself from the 'new consciousness' but found he could not. To his horror he discovered that the emotions that had been shared were now an integral part of his person. The 'new consciousness' was gone, and in its place were all the old feelings of inadequacy, anger and anxiety that had dominated his childhood. It was very much like picking up a heavy load after thirty odd years of carrying nothing.

The shock of it jolted him awake. Yet waking was little better, as his surroundings were suitably white and nightmarishly impersonal. He was lying on a hospital gurney in a featureless circular room. The uniform walls broken only by double doors. The lighting was overly bright, and his eyes were already stinging. There was the distant sound of waves crashing. It seemed a very lonely place, and not at all welcoming, after ...? An impression of burning briefly flittered through his consciousness, accompanied by nausea. Obi-Wan resisted the urge to hold his head in his hands. Pain. Lava. The thrum of a lightsaber. He had died? But no, that couldn't be true, could it? He was here now, alive, and seemingly unharmed. He couldn't argue with logic. It was all very puzzling.

Obi-Wan quickly corrected the misconception when he moved to get off the hospital gurney, and froze noticing his hands. They were small and pudgy. His arms were likewise foreshortened. Obi-Wan drew in a harsh breath, shutting his eyes, before forcing them open again. Perhaps, they wouldn't lie this time? He'd just awoken after all, and disorientation was likely inducing these hallucinations.

Once opened, he focused his attention onto his legs this time. They too had undergone a similar transformation. It wasn't difficult to surmise the reality of the situation, yet Obi-Wan grappled with the truth for a full five minutes, before accepting what his senses told him. He was no longer a man. He was now a boy. How had this happened?

One thing seemed clear. He could not stay here, wherever here was – though there was something familiar to his surroundings now that he paid closer attention. It was hard to concentrate on anything other than his new body, but Obi-Wan was patient and managed to do it quite quickly, drawing the Force around him to sense his greater surroundings. Unusually the data being fed back to him was cloudy and indistinct, but it provided enough information to gather his location: Kamino.

Did that mean he was a clone? It was the only answer Obi-Wan thought plausible.

He slid off the gurney with minimal difficulty, but the impact of his feet upon the cold ground provided further problems, as his legs buckled. Obi-Wan lay on the floor, feeling terribly exposed at the physical evidence of his vulnerability. He rubbed at his bare legs, willing them to wake, his senses opened to the Force to warn him of danger.

What it revealed was cold comfort. There was danger everywhere. It permeated the whole complex. Death hung in the air. A lot of life forms had died here recently. Obi-Wan stopped probing, and focused his energies onto his legs instead. It was pointless to try to track any new danger, with the Force so clouded with death and suffering.

Slowly, life began to stir in his atrophied legs? Yet, the process of accelerated healing was not the swift process it should have been. It was taking all the energy he possessed, and he could feel sweat beading upon his forehead. It seemed his connection to the Force was effected in more ways than first thought.

Obi-Wan could remember a time when his grasp of the Force was just as tenuous. Just how old was he? He was likely no more than ten standard years if his grasp of the Force was any indication, but without the right equipment or even a simple reflective surface, it was impossible to divine his exact age. Of course, there was the good possibility that those responsible knew the answer. The problem being that Obi-Wan didn't trust them. His memory might be shaky, but he was sure he would never have agreed to this. His ethics would have forbid it. Now, his priority was clear. Escape the premises, without attracting notice. Information could be gathered later, in less hostile circumstances.

He still had the Force, and most of his prior knowledge, but the flesh was weak, young and most importantly a stranger. It was a struggle just to stand, but Obi-Wan managed to use the gurney legs to claw himself upright. Obi-Wan did not know this body, and he kept stumbling as his mind insisted that he was a tall, fully grown man, and what's more in perfect tune to the Force.

The Force was intermittent and unreliable now. Not the dependable friend it had been. Obi-Wan could already feel the rising frustration, and this too was new, because he usually had such a good handle on his emotions. Could his memories of the merge be more than a dream? It was beginning to seem more and more likely. And what of the moral question? Hadn't he just usurped the consciousness of another person? These were all questions for another time. Right now he needed to prioritise. Decided upon his course of action, Obi-Wan quickly tottered over to the double doors.

It was then that they opened. Obi-Wan automatically craned his neck upwards to look at the handsome man they revealed. Strange, that the action did not feel foreign. The human was dressed all in black, and carried two lightsabers on his belt. He was very familiar, dangerously so. Without warning, his heart began to beat faster, as he struggled to remember this person. His memories were still a little fuzzy, but were beginning to focus in the face of danger.

Anakin Skywalker, his mind suddenly provided. Followed swiftly by memories of pain, and of burning. This man had hurt him, grievously. With the knowledge came the realisation that this was the man that had left him for dead. Obi-Wan took in a panicked breath then, and was alarmed at his slip in emotion.

The choked sound drew Anakin's attention, and he cringed under the concentrated gaze.

He was going to die again, he realised.


	2. Meeting

The legs of the gurney suddenly seemed like a grand place behind which to cower. It took some effort to shake off the childish notion. By which time Anakin had strode into the room, the doors sliding closed behind him with horrible finality. He cut an impressive figure. Tall, poised, powerful and supremely confident. Handsome at first glance, if one ignored the hatred in his eyes, and the thin line that used to be a generous mouth. The man was infuriated, that much was obvious. Even with the Force dimmed, Obi-Wan could detect the waves of dark energy pulsating off of him. It was a frightening thing to perceive.

"Anakin?" he enquired; shocked into saying anything further by the soft squeak that now passed for his voice. His horror must have shown, because the thunderous expression on Anakin's face changed to one of delight, his lips full again and his eyes free of shadows.

"I'm glad you still remember me, Obi-Wan. There were certain known and unknown risks in halting the procedure prematurely."

Procedure? Prematurely?

"You did this?" he asked, instinctively stepping backwards.

The thunder in his expression returned, and Obi-Wan worked hard not to flinch at the return of so much anger. And so quickly too. He would have to be cautious in the face of such mercurial mood changes.

"No. The Rebels did this, Obi-Wan. It wasn't enough that I defeated you once. They wanted you to die a second time, it seems."

There was his answer. As clear as day. He was going to die now. Again. And if the hatred in that gaze was any judge, it was going to be just as painful as the last time. Obi-Wan absorbed this quietly, trying to get his thoughts in order. Where was the serene surrender he should be feeling? If he was going to die, then that was his fate and it must be embraced. So why was he beginning to feel very real fear at the prospect?

After all, it was unnatural to cheat death. Obi-Wan should meet this head on if it was the will of the Force. Instead, a choked cry escaped him. He didn't want to die, or rather the consciousness he'd melded with was terrified at the prospect. This wasn't all that surprising seeing as it had shared the memories of his demise. There were a great many ways in which to die, to be sure, and Obi-Wan's death had certainly been of the more painful variety.

Instinctively needing greater distance, he kept stepping backwards until he hit the gurney. The sound of impact was horribly loud to his ears. Thankfully, Anakin did not move closer. Instead he folded his arms, and appraised him coldly. "Tell me, Obi-Wan, what else do you remember?"

Obi-Wan. Never had he heard his name spoken with so much hatred. Anakin had spoken it three times now with the same level of feeling, and it hurt to hear his name trip off a tongue that had once spoken it so fondly.

He remembered far too much.

The sharp searing pains as his legs were lopped off at the knee. The flash of poisoned yellow eyes before he tumbled down the incline. The slow warm up as the hot rock penetrated his tunics, and he broke out into a full sweat. Laughter. The crunch of gravel as Darth Vader departed. The overwhelming feeling of failure. The panic soon after as the river of lava quickly rose to greet him. Helplessness mixed with acceptance as the fire hot liquid touched his mutilated body. The sizzle of flesh burning. The sudden white-out at the sensation.

"I remember enough, Vader."

A wry grin. "I sense much fear in you, my old master. You don't need to be afraid of me."

"You're right, of course," Obi-Wan agreed pleasantly, nodding his head. "I should not fear death, and it is troubling that I should do so. I hope you are a little kinder this time," he finished in a poor attempt to be light hearted.

Vader laughed. "No wonder you're running from me. I don't intend to kill you, Obi-Wan."

"Oh? I thought you'd rejoice at a second chance to end me."

"Don't judge me!" Vader warned, the Dark Side of the Force suddenly flaring. A change that was reflected by the yellow streaks of poison that materialised in his eyes, and began to lengthen and take over. It was a beautifully cruel visual reminder of Anakin's corruption. Obi-Wan watched as the rivers of sickness steadily ate into the surrounding iris of each eye, obliterating the original colour. Was this how Anakin had fallen? Slowly, and without his notice? Obi-Wan didn't wish to see it. He wanted to deny the physical evidence of his failure, but he kept his gaze raised and steady. It was important to meet his shortcomings head on, no matter how painful. His neck wasn't the only thing aching.

Obi-Wan stood his ground in the suffocating silence that followed. The air growing thick and heavy with hatred made corporeal. Vader's fists were clenched, his breathing audible in an obvious attempt to restrain his turbulent emotions. It appeared to be working too, for only a few seconds had elapsed before the air began to thin, and his breathing became easier. It was rare to see such control, and somehow aggravating. Why couldn't Anakin have shown a little more of that restraint on missions? It'd have saved him a great deal of stress and worry. Still, this was not the time to reminisce.

"Nothing has changed," Obi-Wan asserted, crossing his own arms and keeping his neck craned despite the growing discomfort. "You are Sith, I am Jedi. There can be only one outcome, and I find myself at a regrettable disadvantage."

Vader nodded, his composure intact once more. "So how do you like your new body?" The good natured mockery was impossible to miss.

"It's a little small, but I'm sure I'll grow into it," Obi-Wan riposted, before he could think better of it.

Vader chuckled, the poison receding from his eyes. "I see you still have your dry humour. Good."

"I find nothing positive about the situation," Obi-Wan returned, sombrely. It was unwise to fall into old patterns with the Sith Lord, in speech or otherwise. Anakin Skywalker was dead, and it would do neither of them any good to pretend otherwise.

"I find there's a great deal of it. Don't you see, Obi-Wan, what the Rebels have unwittingly given us?" There was fervour to his tone and expression now. The same kind that Obi-Wan had witnessed on Mustafar, when Anakin talked with his wife. It did not fill him with confidence.

Obi-Wan responded with guarded silence. What had happened to Padmé? Was it safe asking? He had so many questions, but it was the way of the Sith to twist the truth, so he'd have to find his own answers.

"We have a second chance, now," Vader entreated in full swing now. "You'll see. You failed as a father, Obi-Wan. And I held that against you the longest time, but now I see that you couldn't help it. The Jedi Order destroyed your compassion. But it didn't destroy mine."

"Really?" Obi-Wan couldn't help chipping in, disregarding the disturbing mention of fathers for the moment. "The slaughter of hundreds of Jedi doesn't seem compassionate to me. In fact—"

"You're boring me, Obi-Wan," Vader said with a fresh surge of anger. Obi-Wan felt a whisper of pressure upon his windpipe in warning. It stirred the memory of Padmé choking. Anakin really was lost if he could turn on the one person he truly loved. The realisation was enough to engender silence. Obi-Wan stopped speaking, expecting his air to be shortly cut off, and fighting the counter urge to take in great gasping breaths as insurance.

Seemingly satisfied by Obi-Wan's behaviour, Vader carried on from where he left off. "I can be a father to you, now. Don't you see?" He encouraged, his tone boyishly eager. "We can be a family." There was hope there. Hope. Obi-Wan would be quick to disabuse Vader of that feeling, just as he had similarly had hope ripped from him.

Obi-Wan gestured to his throat, silently asking to be released from the mild Force Choke.

Vader complied instantly, a smug expression on his face, as if his last words carried a weight that not even Obi-Wan could discredit. Such confidence was foolhardy.

"Your delusions know no end," he started, letting his contempt show plainly. "I am not your father and nor have I ever tried to be. The Jedi forbid such attachments and with good reason. I was your Master, nothing more. It is sad that you would confuse the two."

A pause to allow the disavowal to settle in. Anakin had always needed more time than most to absorb personal information, and he doubted that had changed with his fall to the Dark Side.

"This," Obi-Wan continued, gesturing down at his body, "is merely a shell, housing a much older soul. I am a man of middle years. I am not a child. And I am not a substitute for your own insecurities, and juvenile fantasies of a family. I see that the Council was right in their original judgement. I only wish I had had the strength of character to go against Qui-Gon's last wishes. You should not have been trained."

Obi-Wan suddenly left the ground. Desperately he tried to soften the impact of his body upon the fast approaching wall, but the Force was slow to respond to his direction, and he gritted his teeth instead, braced for impact.

He hit the wall with a small thud, before sliding down. It took him a few seconds to realise that he wasn't injured, only a dull ache evidencing the collision at all. He looked over to where Vader stood frozen, and took note of his outstretched hand. That explained it then.

He got up quickly, ready for anything.

"I should not have done that. But you try me, Obi-Wan," Vader said quietly, dropping his hand.

"Why ever not? You certainly had no trouble killing the younglings!" Obi-Wan recklessly argued as he moved towards the closest approximation of shelter. Upon reaching the gurney, he released a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.

The sound seemed to rouse Vader from his sudden inertia, and he moved towards Obi-Wan with determination.

Obi-Wan would have none of that and circled the bed in an attempt to keep an equal distance between himself and the enemy.

Vader crossed his arms as he followed. "They were Jedi too. For the peace and security of the Empire they could not be allowed to live." There was a lot of belief there, but it sounded forced.

"And what makes me different?"

"Isn't it obvious, Obi-Wan?" Vader said with exasperation, coming to a stop.

"No. Enlighten me," Obi-Wan bit out, also halting to maintain equal distance.

"You're gonna make me say it, aren't you? Always so difficult. You had the high ground, Obi-Wan. Or don't you remember that?"

In truth, Obi-Wan couldn't remember the exact details, but he wasn't going to willingly disclose further weakness to his enemy. Especially when it could so easily be exploited. He was disadvantaged enough.

"Whatever you have to say. Say it," he responded, evading the question.

"You don't remember, do you?" Vader demanded, swiftly advancing around the gurney once again.

Obi-Wan scuttled away as fast as he could. It was hard to run with his new legs. He kept overstepping the mark being used to a longer stride, and quick reflexes were the only thing saving him from falling flat on his face. They circled like this four times before Vader stopped. "I don't have time to play musical gurney with you, Obi-Wan. You will come here. Now!"

There was a whisper in Obi-Wan's mind to accompany the order. The bastard was using the Force against him! He easily shook off the compulsion, relieved that in this nothing had changed. Then he quickly darted so that he was positioned closest to the doors, and paused – a look of wary resignation plastered on his face to stall for time. Sith, he hoped he could deceive with this face. He also hoped Vader was sensing his faked feelings, because his eyes were only just level with the bed, making his expression hard to read. Hopefully his eyes could pull it off, single handed.

The foil seemed to work, because Vader moved to stop directly opposite, hands lightly resting against the hospital bed.

Obi-Wan waited to see what Vader would do next. The wait was short because even without the impetus of the Dark Side, Anakin's impatience was legendary.

There was an ominous groan of metal upon metal as Vader exerted pressure on the steel frame. Obi-Wan didn't need the Force to figure out that there would soon be no barrier between them. Patience wasn't a Sith quality, and it was understandable that a piece of furniture wasn't going to put off a disciple of the darkness for long. He was surprised Vader had held out this long.

Obi-Wan turned tail and ran. The large crash that followed, adding greater speed to his steps as he called on the Force for strength.


	3. Discovery

The corridor was as blindingly white as the room he'd just exited, and nothing was labelled. Not that there would be an opportunity to read anything. Vader was hardly going to pause to allow his quarry time to adjust to the surroundings. Obi-Wan couldn't run forever – as much as he might want to.

He'd have to stop eventually, hopefully under his own power, because being stopped by an enraged Sith would be sure to end badly. As soon as Obi-Wan judged that enough distance was covered, he would stop to get his bearings. Signs would be helpful in this endeavour; otherwise navigation was going to be a nightmare.

First things first though. Keep running. Ignore the blood pumping abnormally loud in your ears, and make peace with the fact that it is effectively drowning out sounds of pursuit. Do not look back in case you lose ground or momentum. Cessation of movement will mean capture or worse. Keep your legs pumping. Keep up the pep talk. Try to remember what you can of this place.

_There is no try. There is only do or do not._ Sith, that's not what he needed to remember. Panic was clearly disrupting the efficiency of his thought processes.

Half heartedly, Obi-Wan attempted to scour his memory of the facility from his brief tour long ago, but fear denied clarity. Just as he suspected it would. There was nothing for it but to keep running, even if his legs felt small and inadequate beneath him.

He had more than his feet to help him though. Obi-Wan tightly drew his shields around him in a few short bursts of concentration. Hopefully it would be enough to throw Vader off the chase.

He ran down one corridor and along another before the Force called to him, influencing the direction in which he was travelling. Obi-Wan blindly followed, seeing no better alternative.

Cold sweat sticking the simple tunic to his back, Obi-Wan paused by an unremarkable door, the Force urging him to enter. Perhaps it led to a hangar bay or a communications room? Both would be welcome.

It opened to a medical bay, one that had recently seen violence. Obi-Wan turned to leave when he was compelled onwards by the same omnipotent power, and so he begrudgingly stepped inside. The door swished closed behind him, offering the illusion of safety. A small one, yes, but a closed door at his back was preferable to one that was open.

A bank of broken bacta tanks lined one wall, gutted and glassless. They seemed taller than was standard, but perhaps that was a matter of perspective because everything looked so much bigger now, so much more intimidating. Shards of glass littered the floor which was slippery and wet with what Obi-Wan hoped was not blood. Spilled bacta, perhaps?

Gingerly he moved through the labyrinthine room, conscious of his bare feet. It would take a while to thoroughly explore the place. Time that was perhaps better spent elsewhere? Yet the Force was insistent in its desire to be obeyed in this. Obi-Wan hesitated a moment, before complying.

Though he kept his ears strained for the tell tale swish that would herald Vader's arrival. He did this in the unlikely event that the Force didn't inform him beforehand, which was a possibility given its recent fallibility.

There was little of the durasteel and chrome one would expect of a med bay, and there was a noticeable absence of med-droids. Many of the instruments were alien to his eyes. Some of them were mildly threatening in design. The blinding whiteness was subdued here, no doubt for the benefit of recovering patients. Obi-Wan was glad of the reduced glare because it made things so much easier to see, and limited the necessity of squinting. But then, perhaps that was not the best thing? The large streak of brown that marked one wall told its own story, as did the blaster shots indenting a steel cabinet close by. There was disquiet here. A ripple in the Force.

The sense of unease that he had felt upon awakening began to intensify. Obi-Wan paused by the first droid he found, its front panel still smoking from a hit that was unmistakably made by a lightsaber. Strange to find a battle droid in a place of healing.

He was about to pass by, when he was suddenly struck by a strong premonition that warned him to leave before it was too late. Beyond this droid he would discover something terrible. A truth from which there would be no turning back. It was move forward, or move back.

Obi-Wan reached out to the Force for guidance only to be greeted with silence. He was on his own then. Move forward or move back? One thing was certain, it was dangerous to dally. Indecision was a luxury he could ill afford with a murderous Sith on his trail.

He bit his bottom lip. It was an old habit of his as a child, one he'd long since grown out of. Chagrined at the unconscious slip, Obi-Wan quickly withdrew his teeth from his now bleeding lip and placed the palm of his hand over the bottom half of his face in lieu of such a childish action. This was his preferred form of comfort. The one his adult self used to express the same emotion. Sith, he was thinking in past tense already. That could not be good.

Speaking of past things, he missed the scratch of his beard. His skin felt curiously naked to the touch without facial hair. Wrong. Foreign. The gesture didn't feel the same, and so did not carry the comfort and relief he expected. And just then, Obi-Wan needed comfort. Too much had changed, too quickly. And that was even before awakening into this body. Even now, he was just itching to introduce teeth to lip again. Would it be so terrible to give in to self comfort?

What was happening to him? Was he somehow reverting to his younger self? Impossible! How to explain it then? Vader might have the answer. Vader! He had to act. Now. Obi-Wan berated himself for the precious seconds wasted on deliberation over a matter so trivial, and at such a critical time. Where was his focus?

He circled the droid and the twisted metal of some unidentified machine that flanked it, senses notched even higher despite the greater drain on his energy. Still, nothing could prepare him for the carnage that awaited him on the other side.

The wall decoration he witnessed earlier could not hope to compete with the great swathes of brown that covered floor, wall and ceiling, and every other surface within the immediate vicinity. Dried blood. He had guessed as much previously, but it was easier not to confront the possibility. That was not possible here, with the physical evidence of the donors lying higgledy-piggledy around a single medical carrier, like supplicants at a sacrificial alter. Except they were the victims.

Nine. Obi-Wan counted.

It was not difficult to piece this part of the puzzle. These were the fledgling Rebels that Vader, mentioned. Strange that he didn't recognise any of them, but then...? How stupid of him, that would be a little difficult to do now.

The Force vibrated strongly here with echoes of pain, much of it immediate and fresh. Obi-Wan distantly sensed his own spiralling anguish join those of the dead. It would be days before the echoes faded. Obi-Wan had experience of such things on the battlefield, and it always left him with a feeling of terrible sadness. As it did now.

There was nothing quick or merciful about the manner in which they were murdered. He could tell that already just by looking. One corpse was just a torso. Another resembled nothing so much as the surface of Utapau – the body riddled with holes, and held together by nothing more than connective tissue.

There was no nausea. No sting of unshed tears. Obi-Wan was used to death and familiar with wholesale carnage, too. He had seen worse than this in his career as a Jedi. Still, a part of him wished he could experience such natural reactions now. He couldn't fathom where the longing originated, either. Could one person see too much? Was it a bad thing to become inured to the suffering of strangers? Yes, if the heart still feels but the body cannot. Mind and body should never be in conflict.

Obi-Wan padded towards the medical carrier sensing that the true horror lie in wait there, feet feeling inexplicably heavy. Steps curiously unhurried as a consequence as he slowly navigated the carnage to reach the nexus. His gaze taking in a single wookiee arm still clutching a blaster, the hand clenched tight. A severed head, the eyes blotted out. Two more battle droids twisted into scrap metal – forms barely identifiable. Small details. Big details.

One step. Two. Five. Eight. He had arrived but did not look down at the contents.

He just needed a moment. Just one. Indulgent, Kenobi, he scolded. Get on with it.

The smell should have been warning enough. The air was heavy with the acrid scent of burnt flesh, but it was densest here, no doubt as a result of long occupancy.

Obi-Wan Kenobi. Nude except for loose fitting sleep pants that rested over patches of bacta – the edges peeping out from the hem. Someone had apparently cared enough to try to preserve his dignity. Obi-Wan couldn't help but feel that the gesture was wasted, because there was nothing dignified about this piece of dead flesh that used to be himself. The torso was charred and shiny from repeated applications of bacta. The legs were severed at the knee and crudely bandaged with the same substance. Thankfully the eyes were closed, the area around the lids bruised and red. A breath mask hung uselessly at a blackened neck. The dead had no need of breathing apparatus, so he found the placement fitting. The hair was remarkably intact, auburn strands glinting dully in the light. Hard to mistake the colour, a rarity even among humans. Little details. Big details.

Obi-Wan knelt and reached out to touch himself, just to confirm with his last sense that this was real. Just to ascertain that his eyes were not lying. Just... because...

His own mind unable to wrap itself around the impossibility of what he was doing.

A small pudgy hand, one that he still couldn't accept as his own, lightly touched the cadaver's chest. Better to think of it as a corpse than himself. Safer. The flesh was still warm. Recently died or residual heat from being deep fried? Did it even matter? All at once he wanted to laugh at the absurdness of it all, but he resisted the urge in the knowledge that an outburst of that nature would likely lead to madness.

It was clearly time to leave. The Force had shown him what it wanted, and nothing else could be gained from lingering. It was most certainly time to stop looking down at his dead body. Yet, he couldn't stop staring. Transfixed, despite his best efforts to break the paralysis holding his body hostage. Truthfully, he wasn't trying as hard as he knew he should be doing. There were techniques to overcome shock, even if the effects were only temporary, but he disregarded them in favour of staring.

Distantly he felt his shields slipping. Layer upon layer of his protection sliding away to leave him wide open. Unsurprisingly, Vader, suddenly blared bright upon his senses, a seething blot of darkness on an otherwise grey landscape. A landscape made grey by the same person.

There was no light present in this facility, beyond that which could be seen with simple sight. Too many had died here. Obi-Wan sensed further death beyond this room. Who else had fallen defending his broken body? How many more lives had paid the ultimate price? The facility was nothing more than a mass grave now. A grave that he believed he was soon to join, because for all Darth Vader's talk of family, he was a Sith and Obi-Wan was a Jedi, and to his mind there could be no middle ground. One would prevail, while the other perished. He was not so naive as to believe himself the former.

It was obvious his old student now had a lock on his location and was approaching at a phenomenal speed. His rage preceding his physical body; such was the extent of his power. The building was beginning to shake with his fury. Small tremors that were gradually growing in strength, as Darth Vader drew closer.

Obi-Wan could feel the vibrations travelling through his knees and also through the hand that connected him to the past, to what he had once been. Perhaps that explained the inability to relinquish his hold? To let go one first needed to accept, and he was by no means at the point of acceptance. Which was clearly what the Force had intended to happen.

So, why was he still kneeling? Get up. Run! The commands were ineffective, useless. They held no sway over his body, which remained steadfastly static. The Force was insistently blaring danger, without let up. For all that, Obi-Wan was still unable to disengage his hand, and remained knelt over the mutilated corpse of his original self.


	4. Paralysis

The lights started to flicker and the vibrations intensified. There was the sound of smashing, as fragile apparatus fell from high places.

Obi-Wan still knelt, the cold of the floor beginning to seep into his knees. It was frigid here. The only point of warmth was the charred chest, which was still cooling.

Escape was still viable. There was still time. Medical centres were not designed with a single door for exit and entry, so there was another way out. The Force would be of assistance. It was pointing already, nudging him to follow alongside the spitting computer terminals to his left, and continue on until he came to a medicine dispenser.

Obi-Wan stood, hands braced on the corpse for leverage. Only to let out a small gasp when the pressure he exerted left indents. The torso now carried two small handprints. Obi-Wan stared at the pitifully small impressions and reflected on the nature of existence. When all was said and done, and a life spent all that remained was the physical, and what a fragile thing it was. The flesh was waxy and unfixed, his body little more than slow roasted meat.

However, it was the size of the prints more than the horror of what had happened that was so affecting. Just one more reminder of his vulnerability. What could these hands achieve now?

Experimentally, Obi-Wan flexed them, holding them out for inspection. He didn't flinch at the flaked skin that coated the palms. The dead skin would rub off eventually. No, what worried him was the size. Would he even be able to grasp his lightsaber now?

Obi-Wan badly wanted to close his eyes then. Nose and ears, too. In fact, there was the need to cut off all senses. The desire to cut out his heart was strongest of all. For surely such a malfunctioning organ needed to be disposed of quickly? Just as one would replace a faulty part in a machine. The thing was burdensome and heavy – holding him down. And leaving him unable to move or act independently of his mind, which was crying. The Force was not helping either, rebuffing all attempts to release his spiralling negative emotions. The grief and sorrow returned each time, with no lessening of the burden. It was providing an exit, though. Take it, Kenobi.

He was just about to do that, when the Force warned of danger. Obi-Wan ducked, as a filing cabinet zoomed over his head at great speed. The gesture was unnecessary; however, as the metal obstacle easily cleared his head, which meant Darth Vader didn't want to take his head off just yet. Just a warning then. How nice!

Obi-Wan's heart felt too small in his chest, like it was about to burst clear from his body. Adrenalin was spiking, urging him to do something other than stand, in contrast to his mind which cautioned against any rash action. Obi-Wan settled for the middle ground, and gracefully got down on his knees. The effort to make himself smaller bringing with it a small measure of relief that just had to be the clone's doing. Obi-Wan didn't have time to pursue that thought with the realisation that his new height put him almost level with his dead corpse again. Sith, should have thought of that beforehand. Still, nothing to be done about it now. He wouldn't look too composed if he got right up again. It was better all round if he didn't broadcast his discomfort so freely.

This would be so much easier to accomplish if the miscalculation wasn't already causing him problems because his eyes were now torn between the new threat emerging from the debris directly opposite, and the irresistible siren call that was his original body. Don't be foolish, Kenobi. Focus on what is important.

Darth Vader's cloak dramatically flared around the tall man's ankles as he stalked towards his target, moving detritus from his path with nothing more than his mind. What was left of the medical apparatus twisting into unnatural forms, to match the battle droids that were now close to being buried by the drifts of trash that were accumulating to either side of the Sith. It was as if to suggest that such inferior materials, were unworthy of touching one so great. The arrogance of the Sith suited Anakin. As soon as Obi-Wan thought it, he wished he hadn't. But unlike words, the thought could not be taken back. His mind was filled with too many dark corners already.

Obi-Wan kept his eyes trained on the dark figure. Neck incrementally tilting further back as the Sith drew closer. His neck was going to be sore for days to come. Still, at least it was still attached to his head. That's it, he coaxed himself. Tally up the positives, anything to get through this encounter without breaking down entirely.

Darth Vader displaced the recycled air with new currents brought in from outside. Sadly, the fresh air did nothing to counteract the stench of rotting bodies and burnt flesh. If anything the smell of death seemed to sharpen at Vader's entry, as if in favourable reaction to his dark presence, one foul air complementing another. Or maybe it was just the results of an overactive imagination?

Vader's presence was beginning to do what the slaughter had not, because Obi-Wan was beginning to feel nauseous at the concentrated hatred the man projected. Though he sensed it wasn't completely directed at him. Was that a good or bad thing? It was a good thing surely...? Not if it leads to confusion and mental manipulation. There were too many greys in this situation. The Sith deal in absolutes, yet Anakin was breaking all the rules of engagement, leaving Obi-Wan adrift in a sea of uncertainty as a consequence.

Vader didn't stop until his feet touched the medical carrier. It was just possible for Obi-Wan to see his face at this close distance, though it hurt his neck terribly. Obi-Wan decided he just wouldn't bother, because looking down was easier on more than just his physical tissues. Yellow was such an ugly colour on Anakin. He played around with voicing the thought, if only to get a reaction, but such flippancy would likely be detrimental. Added to which was the fact that the thought was incredibly painful for all its seeming levity. The last thing he needed was to broadcast pain to the enemy.

"What were you thinking?" Vader demanded harshly, with all of his will behind the command to force Obi-Wan to answer truthfully.

"I should think that was obvious," he responded with derision. "Or has the Dark Side clouded your intelligence too?"

It was a good slight. One worthy of a Jedi. If slightly ruined by being delivered at Vader's mid-section. This was something Vader seemed to realise if his reaction was any indication.

Obi-Wan started at the hand that ruffled his hair. The Force had given no warning, and he suddenly knew why. There was no warning because there was nothing to be warned against. The touch was light, playful and non threatening. The Force was obviously mistaken because Obi-Wan felt scalped at the affectionate gesture. Violence would be more appropriate and a lot less unwelcome. Violence he could manage, or even diffuse. How to respond to this? It would certainly be terrible to give in to the tears that suddenly threatened.

"You don't know how cute you are," Vader informed him with genuine warmth, flesh hand still combing through the strawberry blond strands. Obi-Wan sensed no deception, which filled him with disquiet.

The temptation to glance up could no longer be resisted so Obi-Wan obeyed the impulse. The face mirrored the voice. If Obi-Wan didn't know better he would swear this was well... Anakin. A small part of him wished he didn't know better, because the memories that had returned brought nothing but emotional agony.

"Who are you?" he choked out, because this person was certainly not Anakin, but nor was it the bloodthirsty Sith either. His voice sounded small and pathetic to his ears.

The hand stopped moving and Obi-Wan tensed expecting violence even though the Force communicated the same light intentions. Really, though, it was not like the Force could be trusted at this point. Go on your instincts, Kenobi.

"I'm going to be your father, Obi-Wan."

There was a sudden lack of oxygen, and for a terrible second Obi-Wan believed he was being force choked. It was all he could do not to grope at his throat, knowing the uselessness of that reaction after his lightsaber battle with Count Dooku.

Breathe, Kenobi. Breathe! Recognise that this is a mental battle, despite the physical manifestation and get yourself under control. You are responsible for this. The mind and body are connected. You know this. Accept the horror of that promise involving fathers, or if you cannot at least make inroads into relaxing your chest enough to allow the smooth passage of air into your lungs.

With further shock he realised that Darth Vader was kneeling opposite him and was commanding him to do the same thing. Only his commands carried greater influence. It was enough to force his lungs to start working again, and Obi-Wan drew in panicked breaths, chest heaving, and the tears that much closer to surfacing.

What was even more shocking was the complete lack of control over his emotions. It seemed he really was a child in areas that mattered. Tears? Obi-Wan could count on the one hand how many times he had cried in his life. And he wished things to stay that way. He would fight to keep it so, even if he was forced to play dirty.

It was therefore imperative that he circumnavigate any further breakdowns by fair means or foul. Even if that meant goading a Sith. A Sith that was currently looking at him with concern. Not for much longer, if he had anything to say about it. And he planned to say plenty.

He opened his mouth to say something scathing but Vader beat him to it with a finger held to his blood encrusted bottom lip, as if sensing the suicidal gambit. The problem being that Vader now had to provide a topic, for the stall to succeed.

Obi-Wan watched Vader's gaze dart around for inspiration. The finger was still held in place and the hand still rested atop his head, a strangely suffocating weight given that the actual pressure was feather light.

"It's amazing what the Kaminoans are able to do, isn't it?" Vader finally settled on saying, gaze back on Obi-Wan. "My master is simply dying to have them on the payroll," he continued conversationally, before removing the inhibiting finger.

Check and mate. "Payroll? Is that what they're calling _slavery_ in the new Empire?"

"If you like," Vader said with a nonchalant shrug that belied the slight shift in the man's demeanour, the definite sense of encroaching darkness. Score one to Kenobi.

"You look pale, Obi-Wan, like you've seen a ghost, but then of course, you have found yourself."

A chuckle, deep and warm and completely at odds with the maelstrom quickly gathering. It was unfortunate for Vader that he turned nasty when other life-forms failed to fall in with his views, because that particular weakness was going to be exploited by one who knew his shortcomings. Obi-Wan was going to try his hardest to that end, even if the same tactic left him equally exposed. For already the mention of his dead body was forcing his gaze to return to the terrible truth that he was still no closer to accepting, a large measure of his crippling bewilderment also returning. There was a price for everything. Hopefully he could pay the toll without losing.

"I'm sure I look quite different, all things considered," Obi-Wan said dryly, determined to win this despite the loss of focus that staring down at his dead body engendered. He felt like he was reading a script in relying on old patterns of interaction, because new patterns had yet to be established. How did one address a Sith Lord? How did one behave in the face of a stranger that used to be a dear close comrade? A man who knew you intimately. One that now had you at a disadvantage.

"Yes," Vader agreed with the same pleasant tone, as if sensing Obi-Wan's weakening resolve.

"How?" Obi-Wan breathed.

"Oh I don't know," Vader said, sounding bored. "Something to do with consciousness displacement. I let the scientists take care of it."

Try harder, Kenobi. "And did you take _care_ of them afterwards? I sense no one living."

"I did what I had to."

Ah. There was the first real spark of anger, separating itself from the seething mass that roiled just beneath the surface. An errant strand that died just as quickly as it was born – to be replaced by that same contrived lightness. Though the hand that rested in his hair was no longer there. What to make of it? Obi-Wan tried to remain focused on his immediate goal, but Vader's contradictory behaviour was raising all kinds of questions. Was this a period of transition? Had the darkness yet to take a true hold of the man's soul? Or was he just an old man grasping at straws?

"Of course you did," Obi-Wan returned with false understanding, nodding his head and putting aside his death wish for the moment. "What is this really about, Darth Vader?" It hurt to use the title, but he knew it would hurt more to use what came before it.

"Family."

Obi-Wan sighed, eyes still fixed on the blank stretch of blistered skin that was his dead body. There was the growing desire to look at Vader again, to verify whether the honesty detected was genuine but sight was the one sense he was capable of sparing. Especially now that the moisture that had been steadily collecting in his eyes had overflowed both banks, making scrutiny of the corpse impossible. All that could now be discerned was a blur of reddish brown. This was infinitely preferable to yellowish blue. Keep your eyes down, Kenobi. Do not hurt yourself, unnecessarily.

Darth Vader had other ideas. He gripped Obi-Wan's chin and forced his face upwards, until his head was tilted high enough for his eyes to be level with that of his enemy.

"Don't cry, Obi-Wan," Vader said softly, his mood abruptly switching to one of concern again, though the darkness didn't die completely. No, never that. The darkness was an immutable part of Anakin now.

Obi-Wan didn't trust himself to speak. The wet cheeks were humiliation enough. He didn't want to add a cracked voice to the list. Besides which he was too tired to argue Vader's twisted view of what constituted a family, and that was even before factoring in their shared history. Especially when that one word was infused with so much importance, as if his very will was behind it. Obi-Wan feared that was all too true. He also feared what it would mean for his future.

With a tremendous effort Obi-Wan stopped the tears mid flow, forcing back the incomprehension that was proving so meddlesome. That troublesome feeling would be dealt with later. Hopefully when the Force was more co-operative. Though he wouldn't hold his breath on that score.

The action was immediately rewarded by the removal of the hand holding his head in place. Vader was still too close for comfort though.

The time for talking was nearly over. But first...

"You did a good job of keeping your clothes clean."

At the anticipated look of puzzlement, Obi-Wan swept the room with an outstretched hand to encompass the slaughtered life-forms, unceremoniously pushed to the sidelines. The gesture wasn't as expansive as intended but it was the best he could manage with a shortened arm. Shame really, as he knew the old Anakin had an appreciation for grand gestures. One thing that was unlikely to have changed with the man's fall to darkness. If anything it was a predilection that was likely to have increased given the fact that Sith were known for their love of drama.

"Black is a forgiving colour."

"I think they would beg to differ."

"Funny you should mention beg, 'cause they did a lot of begging beforehand." The delivery was crude and callous, amusement evident in those expressive eyes.

Obi-Wan shut out sight. He couldn't bear to hear this poison, much less see it. This was just too much. Where was the selfless boy he knew? Where was the compassionate man he grew into? Where was Anakin? Was he just as dead as these corpses? Master Yoda believed it. Yet...Sith Lords didn't make a habit of seeking reconciliation with Jedi Masters. It just wasn't done. Sith and Jedi – eternally pitted against one another for millennia. Was Anakin just going to change all that? Was his arrogance really that excessive?

Inexplicably, his arms ached to reach out to Anakin. Shake him. Displace the Dark Side through the simple action of gripping his biceps and then...what? The child in him argued that it would be enough. Hold him. Hug him. Love him. Scream even. Ball up your fists and knock some sense into your wayward brother.

Where did I go wrong? Why do you hate me so much? Forgive me, Anakin. I was blind to what was happening. I failed you and I am sorry_._ Wait, he had said much of this already, and it had done nothing to help either party.

The last thought. The one most pressing and insistent. Please wake me from this nightmare. Maudlin, Kenobi. Snap out of it.

The next words failed to do that. "Are you going to make me beg before you are done?" he asked, careful to keep his voice steady, when he was anything but with all the things unsaid and dead upon his tongue.

"Why so upset, Obi-Wan? They're with the Force now. I'm sure they're very happy," Vader finished with a tight smile, the bitterness evident in his tone and force presence.

It was a bitterness that sounded dangerous. One that hinted at so much more than what was currently being discussed. Why was that? Was he missing something? "And the manner of execution? You have not answered my question."

"I don't have to tell you anything!" Vader responded, violently standing. Waves of dark energy washing over Obi-Wan and making him light headed.

"Is that how it is going to be?" Obi-Wan whispered to the man's knees, incapable of anything greater. The chill that had invaded his knees earlier was beginning its campaign again and he felt cold once more. Cold and small. A state that was compounded by Vader's intentions to keep him in the dark for his own pleasure. Well, he wasn't going to further his enjoyment any more than he could help it. Words had achieved little that was positive. It was time for action. A pre-emptive strike would hopefully secure escape from the Sith a second time. Force willing, with no distractions this time around.

Don't fail me now, he entreated before stretching out his hand. Even before the power flowed through him, instinct told him he'd overestimated his abilities. At best this body was mediocre at channelling because the cells were just too young and unused. An assessment that was proved correct when the target moved mere inches before stopping, leather boots squeaking on the blood stained floor.

It was not the wind wave Obi-Wan had hoped for. That's what you get for having to rely on a clone body. The body of a clone child at that. He'd seen better conduits on the J-Type 327 Nubian after the blockade attack took out most of the royal ship's auxiliary systems. Still, it was heartening to see that much of his memory was returning. See good in bad. Stay positive.

Obi-Wan stood, surprised when his knees gave no protest at the movement. Ah yes, of course he had his new younger body to thank for that. Nice to see a benefit at last.

Vader laughed. "Pitiful, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan was sure he had a clever remark to that, but he was too busy spinning on his heel, in preparation for a quick sprint. Pithy comebacks were last on the agenda. He didn't get far, before strong arms hoisted him up into the air and swung him around. Obi-Wan froze in Vader's arms, taken completely by surprise at the gesture.

"Let me down," he ordered loudly, hating how high his voice sounded, but more concerned for his dignity. There was only the two of them, but that was one person too many. He was the senior one here. And the only one to be granted the title of master. Such a blatant disregard of rank was disrespectful and irritating. Furthermore, it couldn't be allowed to continue. It was far too dangerous to consent to the reversed relationship that Vader was pushing for. Anakin Skywalker was no responsible Jedi Knight, firmly ensconced on the side of Light. He was not even an upstanding and wise adult capable of nurturing a youngling into adulthood. He was a Sith Lord, and a dangerously unbalanced one at that.

"That is no way to talk to a parent," Vader scolded firmly, shaking him a little.

"I'll be sure to remember that when I see him or her. I rather think the chances of that are slim, though, don't you? I never knew my parents, and the likelihood of meeting my progenitors is highly improbable given the time difference."

Vader tightened his grip, hands painfully digging into his armpits. "Are you finished?"

"Quite."

"Good, 'cause I have a secret to tell you. Father to son," Vader confided, lowering his voice for greater impact, face mere inches from the boy he held captive. "I let you run earlier, Obi-Wan. I let you run though it angered and disappointed me, 'cause I understand the importance of teaching you this lesson early. You cannot escape me so don't even try it."

_There is no try. There is only do or do not. _

"Oh, I won't." Try that is, because I will escape you eventually. Of that I am certain. "Now let me down."

"Your manners are usually so good too. You know the word to use, don't you?"

Obi-Wan glared. Of all the things... to be talked down to by a former apprentice, as if he were the padawan.

"C'mon, Obi-Wan, a negotiator as skilled as you should have no trouble with that one _small_ word."

Obi-Wan didn't miss the emphasis on the diminutive. "Stop toying with me."

Vader scowled. "I don't have time to indulge your tantrums. We're leaving, Obi-Wan. Whether you choose to leave on your feet or carried by me is up to you."

Tantrums? That was the pot calling the kettle black. There was the temptation to tell Vader that, but he didn't think he'd react favourably to a lecture. He never had in the past, even when on the side of Light. No. Tread carefully. "Please may I be let down?" Obi-Wan said serenely.

"Better," Vader praised warmly, before lowering Obi-Wan to the ground.

"Now hold my hand," Vader commanded coldly, robotic hand held straight out.

The bastard was enjoying this far too much. Obi-Wan folded his arms, and glanced away in open defiance. "I can walk perfectly fine under my own power, thank you."

"Power is something you no longer have. Take my hand or suffer the consequences."

Obi-Wan could sense Vader's irritation and it was doing wonders to lift his mood, because now it was his turn to be amused. He laughed. "You sound ridiculous!"

"I don't make a habit of arguing with children. You will—"

"Nonetheless, you make a habit of murdering them!" Obi-Wan shouted, giving in to his earlier aims of antagonising his opponent.

The robotic hand clenched, black leather creaking in the immediate silence following Obi-Wan's outburst. Though Vader gave no other sign that the strike had hit its mark. Obi-Wan awaited his sentence; shoulders hunched with tension and gaze downcast. There was no way he was going to get off lightly. There was going to be retaliation. It was not going to be the kind one bounced back from either.

"I see what you're trying to do," Vader said at last, voice strained. "I saw through the lies of the Jedi and I see through you, my old master."

"I was not aware the Dark Side granted x-ray vision." The words were playful but the tone was glacial. To match Obi-Wan's expression. Aquamarine eyes staring coldly up at his oppressor in challenge.

"I can see you're tired, Obi-Wan. You should take a nap when we get to the ship. I'll even let you sleep in my lap, how's that?"

Obi-Wan gritted his teeth, cheeks colouring, at Vader's patronising behaviour.

Vader read his mood easily. "What? Don't like the role reversal, I take it?"

"I never..."

"You never what, Master Kenobi? Belittled me? Took me seriously? Showed me up in front of Padmé?"

Obi-Wan blanched at the resurgence of anger. The Senator was clearly a sore spot, the sorest of them all. He desperately wanted to enquire after her safety, too. He hoped she was well, and unharmed in more than just body, but was beginning to fear otherwise. He had verified that she was still breathing upon the platform, but what had happened afterwards?

There were also those earlier words to consider. When speaking of family, no mention had been made of a mother or the baby that was soon due. Why this need for Obi-Wan if he had Padmé and the baby? He used the word need, whole-heartedly too because Anakin needed people. Anakin had always needed people more than was healthy. How had he not recognised this character flaw before now? It was true then. Proximity did blind a person to another's faults. Or am I just excusing myself? This much was certain, Obi-Wan felt his failure, strongly.

"Truth hurts, doesn't it? But it's ok, I forgive you. After all, now I get to pay you back for such excellent instruction."

"So, this is about revenge I take it? I will never turn to the Dark Side."

Vader laughed, eyes beginning to turn yellow with promised violence. "We'll see, Jedi."

Obi-Wan vaguely wondered when the yellow would become a permanent feature, and if mention of Padmé, indirect or otherwise was the catalyst needed to encourage Darth Vader to finish what he started.


	5. Landing

A/N: My greatest thanks to the anonymous reviewers. I can't respond to you individually, of course, so I'm saying thanks here. You'll have to consider this proactive too, as I'm not comfortable with author notes as a rule.

* * *

The Eta-2-Actis rested at the end of the landing pad, its outline largely obscured by continuous sheets of rain. A few flashes of lightening highlighting the ship occasionally. There were few details to take in, but there was one crucial conclusion to be drawn from looking at the solitary craft. The Eta-2-Actis was a single seater starship fighter. Single.

"Did you come here to kill me?" Obi-Wan shouted over the driving rain. Competing with the elements was one fight to be avoided, but this was one question that couldn't wait until they were ensconced in the vehicle. If he made it that far, before Vader tossed him over the side and into the raging waters below. Obi-Wan was a competent swimmer, but he was a pragmatist too. There would be no surviving a fall from here. The height alone would ensure multiple broken bones as he hit the surface, and it was kind of hard to swim with shattered limbs, though he might make an easy meal for the indigenous sea life. See bad in bad. Unless, Vader wasn't joking about sharing his lap...?

Predictably his question was lost in the driving rain. Or was it? Vader's uninterrupted stride seemed to indicate that was the case. It was just as likely that he was being ignored, though, seeing as Vader had observed silence after bodily dragging him from the medical centre a little while ago.

It was a struggle to keep the pace with his left wrist still trapped in Vader's black gloved hand. The difference in strides also wasn't helping. Keeping his balance was also a challenge given the poor visibility and wet slicked surface. His hair stuck to his face, hampering his vision further, and the simple white tunic he wore was soon moulded uncomfortably close to his body.

"Did you come here to kill me?" he shouted again, digging his heels in the ground in an effort to get Vader's attention. The effort was wasted on the slippery platform and all he succeeded in doing was nearly losing his footing, and cutting open the soles of his feet in the process.

Ah, well. They were much closer to the ship now, and there would be plenty of opportunity to ask when they got inside. If, he got inside, rather.

Obi-Wan tried to battle back the beginnings of fear as they crossed the section of the platform with the least width. The pain in his feet not even worthy of consideration given the larger peril. If he was going to die again, so be it. Stop kidding yourself, Kenobi. You're obviously scared because your heart is beating fast enough for two bodies.

The war on fear was swiftly lost when Vader suddenly lifted him clear into the air. Obi-Wan let out an automatic shriek that was thankfully swallowed by the thunderous rain. A good thing, too, as he was unsure he could live it down. Although considering that the rest of his life was going to be over shortly, he might just manage it.

This was it then. The Sith Lord was obviously dissatisfied with your death the first time around, and is now engineering a second demise for you. Don't you feel special? The thought was hardly rational, given everything that had already happened. To be fair, though, rationality was hard to stick to when a mortal enemy raised you high above a fiercely spitting ocean.

Obi-Wan would have liked to have waited with bated breath, but the unexpected opening of his mouth had let in salt water from the spray from a particularly high wave, and he gagged instead. He was too busy spluttering to notice that Vader had lowered him to head height, and was pressing him close to his chest, one arm wrapping securely around his bottom. The other hand still clutching his side.

Obi-Wan's early memories of the crèche were fuzzy at best, but he retained enough instinctive knowledge to respond by wrapping his legs around Vader's torso. Dignified it certainly was not. Maybe not for an adult, but does it look so out of place in the body of a child? Obi-Wan felt the colour immediately blossom in his cheeks despite his reasoning. He felt ridiculous, and his body followed suit. Simple.

Even through the freezing rain, Obi-Wan could feel the hot breath of his captor speaking. With Vader's lips this close to his ear, sound carried easier. "I sense your fear, Obi-Wan. And you're injured. I'll carry you the rest of the way."

There was a strange comfort in that. One that Obi-Wan wasn't ready to acknowledge, even if he did relax the tiniest bit. Put it down to fatigue, Kenobi. You're knackered and your muscles are overtaxed.

The rest of the journey passed much swifter. Despite the partial shielding that being crushed into Vader's chest afforded, Obi-Wan was still soaked through completely, and starting to shiver, by the time they stood by the ship.

Obi-Wan shifted in Vader's grip, silently asking to be set down. Amazingly Vader complied and lowered him to the ground.

With his arms now free, Obi-Wan used the opportunity to wipe the hair from his eyes. To no avail, as the rain kept pouring down, rivers of water continually sluicing down his face. At least Vader fared no better. Obi-Wan settled on holding a hand to his fringe, and finally looked up. He was startled to notice the ship was now painted black, the stark colour relieved slightly by the white and blue astromech droid fitted into the right wing.

"I'm surprised you haven't painted him black, yet," Obi-Wan said quietly, safe in the knowledge that his words would go unheard under the cover of rain.

R2-D2, whistled in greeting. How the old astromech droid had managed to recognise him in this body was remarkable. It was incredibly heartening though. I can't be that much changed, he thought with lifted spirits, if a mere droid knows me. But then, R2-D2, had always been peculiar. "It's good to see you too, old friend," he shouted with genuine warmth, smiling for the first time since awakening to this nightmare.

Vader must have sensed his happiness because he was promptly cuffed over the head. "It's just a piece of metal," he growled before climbing into the cockpit, roughly hauling Obi-Wan inside by nothing more than his abused left wrist. Obi-Wan stifled the sharp gasp of pain at being lifted high on just that one small joint.

There was just enough time to register R2-D2's indignant beeps before the viewport slid shut, cutting off all sound, and shutting Sith and Jedi together in the tight space.

Obi-Wan called on old breathing exercises to calm his nerves as Vader secured him to his lap with the same durable straps he used on himself.

Within seconds, Obi-Wan was fitted snugly against the Sith Lord, the top of his head resting just under the man's chin, and his back resting solidly against Vader's chest. Not the most comfortable position and not where he wanted to be. Still, it beat drowning. That's it, stay positive. Ignore the throbbing of your dislocated wrist, and your still bleeding feet. Little things, Kenobi. They can be healed later. You can accomplish that much at least.

"There was no call for that," he said quietly, as soon as he was settled. He trusted the Sith Lord knew to what he referred as he had yet to complain about his treatment. Yet. One could only suffer so much, and Jedi or not he liked a good moan as much as the next person.

"It has its purpose," Vader said coldly, before seeming to reconsider his stance, fingers stalling on the console in a pre-flight warm up.

It was with a small amount of satisfaction that Obi-Wan watched Vader open up communications with the droid to apologise. Anakin Skywalker had always been fond of droids, of anything mechanical really and Obi-Wan was glad that that at least hadn't changed. R2-D2 could prove to be a valuable ally indeed, and the last thing he needed was to see the faithful if quirky droid twisted into scrap metal by a jealous Sith Lord.

* * *

Obi-Wan was just beginning to drift off when a small spot of grey in the black of space caught his attention on the view screen. "Is that...?"

"The Exactor, yes," Vader stated sternly, sounding strangely disappointed and pained. Wasn't the ship good enough for his Lordship? Perhaps leaning forward had made the straps dig into him? It wouldn't hurt to lean further forward now, would it? Obi-Wan stopped just in time, marvelling at such an incredibly juvenile thought. Stop it, Kenobi. Do not lose yourself to whatever this is.

"Are you listening?" Vader demanded, his anger filling what little space was left in the cockpit. It was suddenly harder to move, and it was harder to perceive things too, like being partially cloaked from the Force.

"Really now," Obi-Wan answered dryly. "The last thing the ship needs is another passenger."

"What!"

"Are you sure this ship can support such hatred?" Obi-Wan elaborated.

"You're not making any sense. I shouldn't expect more from a child."

Obi-Wan bit back his own indignation at the slur. While it was true that he wasn't a child where it mattered, even he could appreciate that even a youngling would be insulted by that unfavourable generalisation. Rise above it, Kenobi. You're a Jedi, first and foremost.

"The Dark Side is heavy, Vader," he began patiently, with an ominous feeling that his even temper wasn't going to last this encounter. "It is a physical presence in its own right in certain states, and right now you are projecting so much of the blasted stuff that I'm finding it difficult to move. Or are you so consumed by it that you cannot sense it?"

"You're just overly sensitive to power, never having had it," Vader said dismissively, still treating him like a precocious child. "I can't help it if you're so weak that you cannot withstand the power of the Dark Side."

"I'm doing a good enough job of withstanding you," Obi-Wan grumbled.

"Not that well, given all your moaning!"

"Why so angry?" Obi-Wan countered, struggling to turn his head to look at his captor, but it was like moving through sand such was the restriction. "If this is how you are going to react over the little things, I'm going to petition for adoption, because frankly I don't think I'll survive any greater displays of your _power_. Me being so puny an' all." He said the last in a deliberate Outer Rim dialect, imitating the voice of a young Anakin Skywalker. It was a rather good impression too, he thought.

"That's not funny, Obi-Wan," Vader said in a whisper soft voice.

Sith! He shouldn't have said that. Sith Lords weren't exactly known for a sense of humour. What happened to treading carefully?

The sudden shift in the volume of sound was disconcerting. The anger that filled the cockpit was also dissipating, allowing free movement but if anything the air of danger had thickened because of it.

Vader had taken his hands off the controls.

Obi-Wan tried to speak, to stall, to do something, anything to sideline whatever Vader was planning, convinced it was going to hurt horribly. And it did hurt, to feel those murderous hands close around him, just not in the way he expected because the hold was protective and possessive, the arms tightening as Vader rested his chin atop his crown. The feather light pressure hard to ignore for the simple fact that it was difficult to grow accustomed to its presence.

Followed by the biggest pressure of all, as Vader spoke softly again. "What makes you think I'll let go?"

Silence, with nothing but the herculean warship growing larger on the view screen to distract Obi-Wan from the terrible promise spoken. Speak, Kenobi. Say something. Break this terrible moment before your chest seizes up from the tension alone. The straps certainly felt tighter.

"You spoke of the ship earlier," he got out rather shakily. "I'm sorry but my attention drifted. What were you saying?"

"That's ok," Vader said gently with just the smallest touch of disappointment slipping through, tone belying his true mood. Obi-Wan sensed his hatred, and ordinarily it would be enough to put him even further on his guard, if that were even possible, but the corrosive emotion was not directed at him and was focused inwards instead.

Clearly, his response was not the one that Vader wanted. Obi-Wan didn't want to dwell on why that was or why Vader was suddenly so disgusted with himself, so he put it from his mind, focusing instead on the next words to leave the Sith Lord's mouth. It also seemed unwise to let his attention wander a second time.

"A gift from my master." Words clipped and impersonal. "It now flies under Imperial colours, and will be used to hunt down the last of the Jedi."

"Hm," Obi-Wan said unconcernedly, refusing to be baited but feeling himself grow cold all the same, his still damp tunic a nice complement to his emotional state.

The rest of the trip passed in chilly silence.

Obi-Wan only wished the flight was as static as the atmosphere inside the cockpit, but it was not to be as Vader lazily piloted the craft closer to their destination, and decided to perform spins and other taxing aerial manoeuvres for the hell of it. And without the aid of his hands, too, which still held onto him tightly.

Obi-Wan had a fine view of the Imperial Star Destroyer as a consequence. Knowing this behemoth was under Vader's command did not fill him with confidence. The galaxy was really in trouble.

A particularly daring ride along the underside of the Exactor triggered a few choice Huttese swear words that Obi-Wan was wise enough not to voice aloud. Obi-Wan swore that Vader was just using the Force for show in an effort to vex him. It was working, too. It wasn't easy seeing the ease with which another Force adept accessed a power that was now so elusive and unreliable under his command. It was damn right annoying.

The rocking of the ship wasn't helping his nausea much, either. He wanted to ask Vader to stop, but even Anakin would only have been encouraged by an admittance of bodily weakness. The discomfort of his former master was usually enough to spur him on to perform even crazier aerial stunts.

The tension of holding himself so still, and the necessity of keeping control over his tongue meant that Obi-Wan was as tight as a bowstring by the time they smoothly docked into an enormous hangar. One populated by row upon row of clone troopers. A still sea of white upon a backdrop of military grey. Not the most comforting landscape given recent history.

"Relax, Obi-Wan," Vader chided, before opening the viewport.

"I'm finding that a little difficult," he got out between tightly clenched teeth, feeling more drained than he had in a long time.

"I knew you were tired," Vader said smugly as he deftly extracted the two of them from the cockpit with minimal effort. Obi-Wan was glad that he was sensibly carried this time, as he doubted his wrist could take a repeat performance without parting company. The area around his left arm was already beginning to swell, an ugly bluish purple obscuring pale freckled skin.

Obi-Wan knew he should react, but he really was tired at this point, and was just about struggling to keep his eyes open. Perhaps the Force would be of some assistance in lending him strength? Obi-Wan encountered silence when he reached out. Terrific. Nice to know it can be relied upon for the most basic things. It would be prudent to work out what he could and could not do when he had the opportunity, because there was nothing worse or more potentially humiliating than utilising weapons one couldn't master or rely on. Above all though, it was incredibly dangerous, and the mark of someone desperate or stupid. Speaking of stupid...

Obi-Wan remembered Boss Nass fondly belittling Jar Jar Binks at the celebration feast for his misuse of energy balls on the Great Grass Plains. Now, there was a good example of what not to do. Force forbid, he ever did anything so idiotic.

As soon as they touched down, the clone troopers saluted in a co-ordinated movement that was stunning for the numbers involved.

"Efficient," Obi-Wan idly commented, deliberately underplaying what he was sure was a point of pride.

"The Empire moves quickly to secure peace. Not like your precious Republic," Vader sneered, "bickering for months on end while people are dying."

Obi-Wan stifled a yawn. He was tempted to yawn widely just to exaggerate the tedium of Vader's claim, but he was resolved to be more cautious, now that his future seemed less uncertain. He was also worried that such a gesture would look immensely childish. Infantile behaviour was the last thing he wanted to exhibit before a man with designs to be his father.

"I'm not going to argue this, with you," Obi-Wan responded calmly, unwilling to set off this time bomb any further given his fast closing eyelids. It was not wise to argue with a mind that was fast wandering, as it often did while tired. The rigid controls Obi-Wan kept in place fast unravelling when fatigued. An efficient, quick mind succumbing to daydreams.

Vader missed nothing. "Don't worry. I'll get you off to bed soon," he promised, patting his head.

Obi-Wan endured it without reacting, most of his energy focused on standing, the soles of his feet protesting the new pressure. There was a time and place for which to stage a battle, and this most definitely wasn't it. A wise man knows when not to fight.

Across from them a solid wall of clone troopers passively watched, white helmets glinting under the harsh lighting. It was impossible to know what they were thinking, if they thought at all when in parade formation.

Seeing them standing at attention, brought to mind one clone in particular. Commander Cody had been a dear friend, and one of the few clones to demonstrate independent thinking. Obi-Wan had trusted him with his life. But even that was for naught. Even Cody had turned in the end, despite their long history. Let it go, Kenobi. Release your pain to the Force. Easier said than done given the mercurial nature of access. At least put it from your mind. You are not so lost that you don't have control of your thoughts.

As Master Yoda said ... Sith. You're a clone too. How easy it is to forget that. So, what does that make you? Are you going to turn to? Is there hidden programming inside you just waiting to be activated at Vader's convenience? It was enough to make a man itch. Obi-Wan imagined it now. A switch labelled, 'Obey, Darth Vader. He is your father.' The itch grew stronger.

It was not helped by the impersonal regard the clones projected. Obi-Wan eyed them warily. The utter stillness they employed when not in battle was a very frightening thing indeed after they turned on the Jedi. They were little better than droids when it came down it, incapable of making choices and unhindered by anything as luxurious or complicated as a moral compass. Obi-Wan suppressed a shiver with the feeling that it was more than warranted.

Were there some among their number responsible for killing Jedi? It didn't matter in any case, because even if they had yet to spill Jedi blood, they soon would under Vader's direction.

Evidently, responsible was the wrong phrasing entirely when describing actions carried out by clones. A weapon is only as useful or as harmful in this case, as its wielder.

The intimate moment and Obi-Wan's musing was interrupted by the sense of independent life-forms advancing. Clones registered very differently in the Force to other life-forms, and nowhere was this more evident than in a hangar of this size, the small retinue of fast approaching life-forms burning bright upon the senses, in contrast to the dim signatures projected by the clones.

The two of them looked to the far distance and watched as a small contingent of Imperial officers approached at a good clip. Something told Obi-Wan that Vader wasn't too pleased at their tardiness. Windpipes were going to be crushed.

Of this he was certain – their appearance had effectively put an end to the lightness that could be sensed from the Sith Lord. Well, it was nice while it lasted. Unsettling yes, but still preferable to absolute darkness. This brought to mind, Darth Maul. Now there was the perfect example of absolute darkness, with nothing as frivolous as humour or play to lighten his consummate evil.

Obi-Wan made comparisons, mind meandering far from the hangar, with only the sound of hurried steps and the sense of rising trepidation intruding upon his thoughts. They did well to be afraid, he thought absently before pursuing his first line of evaluation. Chancellor Palpatine was mistaken if he thought Darth Vader an improvement over his Zabrakian apprentice. Oh, he certainly had the greater power. Anakin Skywalker on a good day had the potential to take out any Jedi in the Temple, excluding the Council. It was only youth that hampered his ability. A fact that would change with age. Still, ability wasn't everything, and as much as it pained him to admit a failing in his apprentice, Obi-Wan knew Anakin Skywalker wasn't a great thinker when one factored in emotions.

Of course he was intelligent, had proved himself many times over the years with his tactical efforts and innate understanding of mechanics. But the lack of personal control and common sense had cost him more minor victories than Obi-Wan could name, and this was by no means limited to the battlefield.

No, as it was true now and as it was true then, Anakin Skywalker had lost most in his own personal life. Alienating friends within the Temple and out of it, rubbing up potential allies the wrong way on routine field missions, and often leaving Obi-Wan to deal with the fallout.

Obi-Wan had often credited Anakin, in playful moments, for his excellent skills in negotiation, but only because he'd had to hone them in seedy bars and backwater establishments, on undercover missions, when Anakin had taken exception to a look or a slight upon his person.

On reflection he should have done more to correct these faults, but there had been a war on and there never seemed to be enough time in which to instil these values. It was also a little wearying and hypocritical to criticise someone so thoroughly, when he himself was just as flawed in other areas. Anakin was doing the best he could under the circumstances. The war was taxing on everyone, and he had reasoned that the last thing his apprentice needed was constant needling. Not that he hadn't criticised, but maybe he should have done a little more of it before the responsibility passed with Anakin's knighting.

It had to be those same weaknesses that had contributed to his fall to the Dark Side. If that were truly the case...? As much as he wanted to deny it, he sensed a small amount of lightness in Vader. A small part that had not fallen to the darkness. It went against all his teachings, but he could not ignore what his own senses told him. Vader's actions spoke stronger still because Sith Lords did not hold ambitions of fathering children, least of all a Jedi child whatever the circumstances surrounding its conception. And for all his bluster about turning him to the Dark Side, Obi-Wan saw it as just that – bluster. Sith Lord he may be, but he could still be read.

Regardless he was positive those same shortcomings had made him susceptible to Chancellor Palpatine's charms. He was sure of it. If he only knew the exact details. He was appallingly ignorant of events before and after Mustafar. This would have to be remedied at the first available opportunity. Vader had talked of power earlier, little realising that the true power he held over him was knowledge.

I definitely failed you, Anakin. I will always be sorry. He almost said it too, forgetting himself, but once again, Vader anticipated his intentions. "Do. Not. Speak. Do. Not. Show. Me. Up!" he threatened the hand that had patted him, still hovering over his head, this time in warning.

"A little difficult, to make a good impression, do you not think?" he questioned, eyeing Vader's waterlogged clothes and still dripping hair, fully aware he looked little better. Or assumed so as he still hadn't had the opportunity to view himself in a mirror. The trip here had been short, and the coldness of space had only hampered the natural drying process.

The sharp slap to the back of his head was a definite shock. Obi-Wan stumbled, almost certainly destined to meet the hangar floor, if not for the sharp grip on the neck of his tunic hauling him back upright, close to Vader's side, so that Obi-Wan found himself in the dubious position of being tucked in close under the man's arm.

"Let that be a lesson," Vader snapped out, eyes flashing downwards.

Obi-Wan met the gaze full on, neck tilted upwards, and eyes similarly ignited. "Sorry, Father," he snapped back, with equal feeling.

The quip was supposed to be clever, fun. Banter between buddies. It was supposed to be all these things but it wasn't, because Vader responded gravely, like a real parent. "Apology accepted, son," he said with deadly seriousness, an approximation of satisfaction and tentative wonder in his expression. The same lightness that had vanished quickly flaring up again to chase away the darkness.

Oh Sith! That was a pretty big slip.


	6. Sleep

Obi-Wan was the first to break eye contact.

The Imperial officers had arrived and the commander, a humanoid of middle years, was already speaking, voice hurried and his apprehension ringing clear and bright in the Force. But all Obi-Wan heard was the white noise of his own madly pumping heart.

Re-engage, Kenobi. He blinked a few times to augment the process and finally took stock of the small company. Five men. All of them physically still in contrast to their wildly oscillating emotions. Obviously well trained, though two of the less active men were breathing nosily, laboured breaths unnaturally loud in the still hangar. Their exhalations were visible in the air, a visual reminder of the frigid temperature. Not that he needed further reminders. The occasional draughts of recycled air that swirled around his bare legs was confirmation enough. Obi-Wan shivered minutely, trying to suppress the natural functions of his body.

He also kept his head raised, neck screaming even louder at the continued torment. He paid particular attention to the commander, ignoring the ache and consigning it to the 'attend to later' pile that already housed his sprained wrist and sliced feet. The important thing was to prioritise, because there might not be another opportunity to judge the type of people that Chancellor Palpatine was trusting to run his new Empire.

He took in small details, such as the stain on the left officer's shoe and the naked, entirely unhealthy interest the officer at the back showed him. Small details that his mind was quick to shove aside in favour of what it considered more pressing.

He called you his son. The words were not spoken out of spite. There is more to this than simple vengeance. Vader is conflicted. What was it Master Yoda said?

_Once you start down the dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny._

Wise words, and yet Anakin had only taken the first step on the path to the Dark Side, and he was already diverging. Obi-Wan's continued existence was proof of that. The Dark Side was obviously not as swift a moral alignment as the archives led him to believe. First hand evidence being an indisputable thing. There is hope. Not all paths run straight and true, some wind, some diverge; some change course and others simply dwindle to nothing. There is hope, Kenobi. Hope.

_There is hope, in you._

Obi-Wan started at the last line, because it was not his own. Of those left, who had the power to use telepathy at great distances? Master Yoda?

Gathering the Force he reached out but only encountered silence. Hello? he projected feeling faintly bashful. Dead space, with nothing but his own thoughts for company. Had he imagined it? No. His arrogance wasn't that great. Was it?

_There is hope, in you._

Obi-Wan started again, eyes widening. There was something recognizable about the voice this time. Something familiar and warm. Could it be...?

"What is it?" Vader demanded tersely, breaking his concentration. To his chagrin he started a third time. Sith, he never used to be this jittery.

He shook his head in answer, suddenly aware of six sets of eyes focused solely upon him. He didn't wish to speak, was too conscious of his joke of a voice.

"Behave then!" Vader scolded.

Obi-Wan felt the colour rise to his cheeks despite his efforts to fan back the flames of embarrassment. It was immeasurably harder to observe the officers with his dignity thus compromised. The non-judgmental, sightless floor was so much easier on the eyes. Perhaps if he just listened for the time being? Sight was just one of the senses, after all. And one most likely to mislead.

Vader's speech was clipped and stony, unborn violence underpinning every syllable. The commander, in contrast, was speaking in conciliatory tones, enquiring after the success of the mission and asking after the performance of the Eta-2-Actis. One didn't need to be Force sensitive to sense Vader's darkness. The commander was walking a thin line between caution and friendliness. He was obviously a favourite of Chancellor Palpatine's, to talk to the Emperor's Right Hand with that level of confidence. Certainly not someone to be crossed lightly. Observe. Be quiet. Stay still, and learn what you can, Kenobi. There are advantages to being little.

"Lord Vader, I am afraid we missed your arrival because—"

"—You spent a ridiculous amount of time whizzing around the ship," Obi-Wan interjected, glancing up at Vader, before his gaze snapped to that of the commander's. "So you figured you had more time."

Judging by the dismayed face of the commander, he was right on target.

There was an expectant silence. The Imperial officers a step behind the commander, eagerly waited, like Gundarks seizing up potential prey. Interesting to see how quick they were to turn on their own superior officer. That could be exploited, later.

Obi-Wan was waiting too. Just what would Vader do? He'd been warned not to speak and certainly not to show him up. Did the latter qualify? What happened to be quiet? He almost cringed as Vader drew him tighter to his side. "This is my son, Obi-Wan."

One of the officers gasped.

Obi-Wan tensed, the revelation (for it was still that) shocking him into alertness, the sleep slipping from him with all the ease of a cloak slipping from one's shoulders just before combat. Obi-Wan felt his earlier focus return, but the fatigue still lingered at the edge of his awareness – a reminder that this was merely a reprieve, and one with repercussions. When he finally succumbed to exhaustion the effects would be all the quicker and more powerful for the delay. There was always a price to be paid. That was the nature of energy. The adrenalin that flooded his system would only further tax his system, making the end toll pricier.

It was completely unexpected. Obi-Wan had naturally assumed that his presence would be explained away or for no mention to be made of it. Surely, Chancellor Palpatine had not authorised this? Secrecy had seemed such a necessity given his Jedi status that he hadn't even thought to question what story would be given upon disembarkation.

Obi-Wan had this to say for the commander. He was quick to recover. The name was famous throughout the galaxy, even sans the surname, and someone in such a high position would certainly be familiar with it. Obi-Wan fancied he could see the cogs in his head turning.

"Hello, young man," the commander said brightly, abruptly kneeling down to address Obi-Wan, and broadly smiling, though it didn't reach his eyes, which were shrewd and intelligent. Assessing.

Obi-Wan felt his lips thin at the unimaginable slight. He had thought it intolerable to be talked down to by Vader, but this was unaccountably worse. He was simply struck speechless, and could even feel his eyes widening. This would not do at all. This was not happening. None of his Jedi training was helping. This had never come up in all his years as a padawan, knight and master. Just. What? How did...?

Obi-Wan was saved from trying to answer by Vader's intervention. "Did I give you permission to speak to him?"

Immediately the commander straightened, fear spiking. "I'm sorry, Lord Vader. I didn't mean to assume that—"

"Your attempts to curry favour are transparent." The temperature in the hangar noticeably dropping. "Have co-ordinates set for Naboo and have the ship depart as soon as possible."

"As you wish, Lord Vader," he said with a curt bow, before departing with his men, his back straight but his fear still resonating through the Force long after he'd departed.

Obi-Wan looked back up at Vader. "I wonder what Chancellor Palp—"

"Emperor, Obi-Wan. Don't be so bold. No one with half a brain would call him that now."

"Emperor," Obi-Wan mused, as if testing out the title on his tongue. "I suppose it beats calling him master."

"Careful, Obi-Wan," Vader warned, the darkness that now defined him growing stronger. The air growing thick with anger.

"Tell me, Vader," Obi-Wan persisted, heedless of the gathering storm clouds. "Is your master aware of your little trip to pick me up?"

"It doesn't matter," Vader replied, sounding unsure for the first time. "He will grant me this, for failing to deliver his promise."

Obi-Wan sensed new loss. Pain.

"Pad—ahhh." Voice cut short by the sudden Force Choke.

Obi-Wan broke away from his attacker, and stumbled to his knees, hands clawing at his throat, in a panicked attempt to negate the hold. He sensed the deadly intent behind the command, and it only increased his terror. This was nothing like the whisper soft pressure earlier. The child reared inside, mindlessly babbling and fuelling his panic.

Think, Kenobi. You know you can beat this. But with each second that passed, thinking became a great deal harder, as his brain was denied oxygen.

Accept it. _There is no death, there is only the Force._

Obi-Wan struggled with his own teachings for a few seconds before he allowed his hands to go limp. He fell over onto his back and stopped moving, resigned to his fate. He would accept this, despite feeling strangely cheated.

He waited, with black encroaching upon his vision. The hangar ceiling was a military grey, fast darkening. R2-D2 was beeping furiously, the sound beginning to grow faint as the scales tipped in death's favour. All his senses shutting down in concert, his sight the only exception as it held on a little longer, faithfully transmitting the grey expanse of ceiling. Not really the last thing he desired to see before becoming one with the Force. A sunset would have been nicer, or his quarters in the Temple. Something beautiful or familiar. Not this.

Release. Everything came into focus at once, and the urge to sit up and gasp was upon Obi-Wan. He resisted the natural impulse and remained still and at peace, if only in body. Perhaps Vader's arm was just a tad tired? Yes, that had to be it.

Continuing to breath, however, was sadly unavoidable so Obi-Wan took in a small lungful of air, conscious of the dangers of taking too much oxygen in at once. Though he had no idea why it mattered given that a murderous Sith Lord was likely just struggling with a new Dark Side power. Any second now he expected a repeat assault. Perhaps Vader would last a little longer this time? Just enough to allow for a proper conclusion.

His lungs burned and his eyes began to water. Obi-Wan remained still, the cold hangar floor quickly eating into his damp skin. Sith, but he wanted to die warm, comfortable and content, preferably alone in his bed. He didn't want to die cold, uncomfortable and watched by hundreds of impersonal clones. Granted, it was not a very Jedi-like sentiment, and it was certainly one that he would never be so careless as to verbalise. It was a secret hope. One that Obi-Wan had harboured as the war dragged on interminably. He was a Jedi; he went into battle fully cognizant of the risks and was always willing to sacrifice life and limb in the pursuit of peace. But he was, at heart, a gentle man who chose words over swords whenever possible. A quiet scholar, who looked forward to retirement from active duty, and a position teaching diplomacy or manning the extensive archives after Jocastu Nu's retirement. And here was the manner of his death, mocking his last moments.

"Obi-Wan?" The voice hesitant, fearful.

Speaking would expend far too much energy. It was also sure to hurt.

"Answer me, Obi-Wan!"

Ah well. Raw throat be damned. I don't think much to your stamina, Obi-Wan thought wryly. "How do you manage it?" he rasped out instead because it was unwise to make allusions to Vader's prowess in the bedroom, especially with the status of Padmé and the baby still unknown. He wanted to ask after their safety more than ever after sensing Vader's grief, but as his aching throat proved, they were obviously a taboo topic. What kind of loss was it? he wondered. Had Padmé commandeered the ship he'd stowed aboard? Was she right at this minute fleeing the Empire? Wisely opting to run away from her husband-turned-monster? Or was she dead, the child dead with her?

Footsteps closing in on his position. R2-D2 still whistling. "Manage what?"

Obi-Wan shifted a little to keep his circulation going. "The sudden mood shifts must be exhausting."

A chuckle and the rustle of cloth. The thoroughly boring ceiling replaced by something interesting at last. Obi-Wan looked up into his captor's face. "There you go again. Fear. Anger. Amusement. All in the space of a few seconds."

A flash of irritation. "It's called _feeling_. You should try it sometime."

Obi-Wan lifted his right arm, and waved it around for emphasis, his fingertips beginning to turn blue, whether from the low temperature or shock he couldn't tell. Perhaps a combination? "I'm cold and tired, Vader. This blasted floor is freezing! I _feel_ that. Now, finish what you started."

"Obi-Wan, haven—"

His sight was starting to dim again, the edges of his vision darkening. Clearly this body was incapable of taking further damage, which was why he opted to break away from polite etiquette to get his two credits in before losing consciousness."If you'd be so kind, I'd prefer you finished it with a lightsaber." Please, don't make me explain why.

"Why?"

Obi-Wan really wanted to bring a hand to his face then. But the absence of his precious beard forbade such an action. The itch to bite his bottom lip flared up again, but Obi-Wan ruthlessly batted it down, despite the growing urge to find a physical expression for his pain. He wetted his cracked lips, tasting copper. "Oh, I don't know, the plasma energy might warm me up a little."

A sudden palm on his forehead. Warm and blistered, and also ridiculously large. Is my head that small? "You're not well, Obi-Wan. I'll get you to our quarters quickly."

The warmth at his forehead only served to exaggerate how cold the rest of him really was. Obi-Wan shivered afresh, being unable to hold back the tremors any longer.

Vader reacted predictably; face tightening in worry before he scooped Obi-Wan into his arms. There was a lesson there, somewhere. Something that could be used to his advantage, if he could only think what.

Obi-Wan resented the familiarity and thrashed weakly. "I'm not your ..." he cringed from saying the actual word. "I'm not that. Stop."

Vader responded by tightening his grip, holding Obi-Wan firmly to his chest, until the small rebellion ran its course. It didn't last long. Obi-Wan was tired, his left wrist was no help at all and a small part of him welcomed the warmth. The 'clone' part that he really needed to name, to enable him to lay proper blame in future.

In no time at all, Obi-Wan's body was pressed against Vader's damp tunics, nose squashed against his collarbone and his left wrist protectively clutched to his chest as he drifted off to sleep.

"A second tantrum, already?" Vader softly scolded as he strolled from the hangar.

Obi-Wan definitely had a smart answer to that, but sleep was a strong siren, and he mumbled groggily, shifting slightly in an effort to get comfortable. If he was going to have no say in the matter, then he most certainly wasn't going to martyr himself by increasing his physical discomfort. That would benefit no one.

* * *

Vader's quarters on the Exactor were suitably grand and opulent. However, the colour scheme wasn't exactly befitting a Lord of the Sith, an observation Obi-Wan couldn't help making as he was carried in, snugly ensconced in said Sith Lord's arms.

Vader laughed. "Would you prefer black, Obi-Wan?"

"Oh no," Obi-Wan said with forced cheer. "I like the beige and blue."

"Good," said Vader depositing Obi-Wan onto one of the brown leather sofas that littered the area. "'Cause you'll have to live with it a lot of the time. Stay there," he warned, before moving to one of the three doors that lined the right side of the room.

Obi-Wan was tempted to disobey on principle. He wasn't a youngling, to be ordered around. Yet, rebellion had to be carefully administered. Besides which, he had the niggling fear that such a churlish act would further confirm Vader's conviction. And really, Vader had plenty of ammunition already. No, better to remain seated at present.

The sitting room was well heated and housed no less than three sofas and two armchairs, strategically placed in a semi-circle presumably to accommodate informal meetings. The lighting strips in the ceiling were turned low, to complement the few standing lamps that dotted the circular area, their shades a tasteful cream. Obi-Wan sat back against the maroon cushions, grateful that his tunic had dried. Now at last, he could finally get warm. With little else to do, he attempted to survey the room in greater detail.

Directly across from him sat an identical high backed sofa, a black cloak carelessly thrown over the top. Behind it, a huge floor to ceiling viewing window stretched from one end of the sitting room to the other. The line of transparisteel broken by a large holoprojecter in the far left corner, a few holovids carelessly scattered around it.

A bunch of datapads were also stacked haphazardly on a low table by the sofa, fighting for space alongside a few used cups, rims stained brown with coffee.

"I see the Dark Side hasn't improved his tidiness," Obi-Wan muttered fondly, with a forgetful smile that quickly died as memory reasserted itself. With a pang, he wished he had someone to share his observation with. The old Anakin would no doubt have scowled, pretending offence, though the mischievous gleam in his eyes would betray his true feelings. Obi-Wan sighed, resolved to end this depressing line of thought before he lost himself to memory.

The growing niggle at the nape of his neck proved a nice distraction. Obi-Wan scratched at the top of his tunic, noting how the coarse and scratchy material was irritating his skin. He frowned. The cloth was little different from his Jedi robes, so why the discomfort? Ah, but then you forget that this skin isn't hardened by long campaigns in all weathers, and the natural aging process. This skin is new, Kenobi. Soft and untried. Like you in this situation.

Intrigued, he reached out with his good hand and experimentally rubbed at the skin on his legs, feeling faintly ridiculous. The skin was indeed soft and smooth, though goose pimpled. Obi-Wan quickly returned his hand to his lap, dismayed at the further proof of his switch in bodies. The fact that his toes didn't reach the edge of the seat wasn't helping, either. Sith, what a predicament.

The short nap had also done little to alleviate his fatigue. His eyelids were growing increasingly heavy, and the warm air only served to aid his sleepiness. I could use some coffee now, he thought, eyeing the stained cups with longing.

Assured that he was alone for the present, he yawned widely, arms outstretched in an effort to dispel the traces of lingering sleep. And, if he was honest with himself, he also did it because the action was pleasurable.

The sofa certainly was comfy. Obi-Wan rested his eyes briefly, and relaxed further into the cushions.

And that was how he remained until a hand gently shook his shoulder. Obi-Wan groaned, turning so that his face was pressed into the expensive cushions.

"Cute. But I need you awake for this."

Obi-Wan snuggled deeper into the sofa, the words indecipherable in his sleep fogged mind.

Another shake, this one rougher. Obi-Wan turned his head, one sleep encrusted eye blinking open.

Sith! Obi-Wan battled back his alarm, as he peered at the large figure casting him in shadow.

"Your wrist needs healing," Vader said matter-of-factly.

Obi-Wan ran a hand through his hair in irritation, heart racing from the shock of being gently awakened by a Sith Lord. "Why bother?" he bit out. "You'll only harm me again."

As soon as the words were spoken, he regretted them. Such a hasty retort was more befitting a padawan than a master. The regret must have shown too, because Vader only responded with a tight grin, before kneeling next to the sofa. Damn the ingenuity of this face!

"You'll have to start behaving then, won't you?" he chided, tapping Obi-Wan's leg for emphasis. "Naughty children have to be punished." Tone equal parts amused and indulgent.

Obi-Wan really wanted to disappear into the cushions then. He settled for holding his wrist out instead, hoping to get this particular charade over with quickly, if he couldn't have his first wish.

Vader's grip was firm and lacking gentleness. Obi-Wan anticipated the pain, and allowed none of his hurt to show as his wrist protested the rough treatment. It was such a little injury, after all.

Vader closed his eyes in concentration. Obi-Wan felt the shift in his regard, and glanced down at the discoloured skin peeking out from between Vader's fingers. Slowly, the purplish blue morphed into a greenish yellow, as the process of healing accelerated. The act itself left Obi-Wan feeling inadequate. He could heal himself; he thought indignantly, his mouth partway open to protest as much, when Vader spoke. "All done. I healed your feet too. That wasn't too hard, was it?"

And so he had. Obi-Wan had been so caught up in his own thoughts that he'd failed to see the process to its conclusion.

"You can let go now."

A look of hurt passed across Vader's face, his grip slackening. "Why so cold?"

"I should think that was self evident. What are you trying to achieve?"

Vader relinquished his arm, and glanced away. "We can be a family," he repeated softly, though Obi-Wan sensed his frustration with the direction in which the conversation was headed. Did his delusion really run that deep? Did he really believe it was going to be a simple case of heal and make up? Had he watched too many melodramas in his youth?

Obi-Wan drew his legs up, and rested his hands on his knees in preparation for further aggression. It was a small measure, but it had the effect of diminishing his increasing feelings of vulnerability.

"No. No, we cannot," he began firmly. "_Our_ family lies dead in the Temple. Where _you_ left them." He tried to keep the accusation from his voice. He tried to keep his tone neutral, because the words themselves were explosive enough, but his grief betrayed him. And all the pain and blame bled through in defiance of his wishes.

Much like the yellow that began to bleed into Vader's eyes. Obi-Wan tensed, braced for an eruption, though it didn't still his tongue. "Is the truth too difficult for you?"

"Don't make me hurt you."

"It's too late for that. Not everything is as easily fixed as a sprained wrist. Are you going to heal a crushed trachea too? A snapped spine? A haemorrhaging heart? I'm not one of your machines, Vader. If you carry on like this you will kill me."

"No," Vader denied, shaking his head, "I won't. I promise not..." But his voice petered away, his words as weightless as leaves blowing in the breeze.

Did he finally realise the futility of promising what the Dark Side, in all its malevolence, would disallow? This much was certain, Anakin would no longer have his back in a fight. Or any arena in life.

"It will consume you completely, if you let it," Obi-Wan said into the silence.

Vader's head snapped back around to glare at Obi-Wan. "You don't know the power of the Dark Side!"

"You're right," Obi-Wan conceded calmly, trying for control. "And I don't wish to either. Have you looked in a mirror recently? Can you hear yourself? You sound intoxicated. This isn't you. This is," he rubbed at his face, struggling to continue. "You are not the Anakin I knew."

"You're right. I'm more powerful now than I ever was. I'm not held back by some stupid code any longer. I did the galaxy a favour. I'm going to bring peace to my new Empire."

"How much longer will you cling to fantasy? It cannot save you from your actions. Peace isn't worth having if it can only be achieved through the murder of innocents."

Vader stood abruptly, towering over Obi-Wan's small form. The air growing dense with anger. He stabbed the air with his index finger as he talked, voice deepening in authority. "You are never to mention Order 66 again. That topic is off limits."

Obi-Wan craned his neck upwards. "Order 66," he repeated. "Is that what you called the oper—?"

Crack! Obi-Wan's head snapped to the side from the force of the slap. Tears of pain pricking at his eyes.

"What did I just say? You had your chance, Master. You blew it! Let's see if I can do a little better."

"It's not a competition."

"I'm going to win this," Vader snarled. "You're going to love me the way a son should love a father."

"I did love you, Anakin," Obi-Wan said quietly, his cheek smarting.

"Not enough!" Vader exploded. "Not like a father should love a son!"

Obi-Wan covered his face. This was going to hurt, but what didn't now? "You can try to force it. You can try. But it will not come. Mustafar should have taught you that much."

Vader folded his arms, looking unimpressed. "I'm the teacher _now_, Obi-Wan. Now go use the 'fresher before bed."

* * *

Obi-Wan had had neither the energy nor inclination to use the refresher, so he'd used his brief time alone to gather his scattered thoughts. There were too many questions. A plethora of potentially dangerous topics to touch upon, and he had finally decided to risk one last enquiry before he dropped dead on his feet from exhaustion.

His body cried out for sleep, but his mind was still buzzing with a multitude of questions. The kind that made sleep restless and disturbed. Experience told him it was better to go without sleep, than to succumb to the toss and turn of a disrupted cycle. Obi-Wan had reasoned that he might rest easier with just the one answer. One answer was progress. He knew just what to ask too. It was a relatively safe question, one he considered neutral enough to venture asking.

Darth Vader waited in the spacious sitting room, long body sprawled on the only low backed sofa. The very picture of casual contentment. Evidently one could not always trust one's eyes as this picture lied.

"I've been meaning to ask you..." Why was this so difficult? Perhaps it was because he had to ask in the first place. When had he ever had to rely on Anakin for anything? Oh sure, Anakin had saved his life countless times, but this was completely different. This was information about himself. Information he should know by rights.

"Yeah?" Vader prompted, impatient at the long pause.

"How old am I?"

Vader smiled smugly. "I thought you told me that. Middle years wasn't it? Thirty Nine? Forty Two. I forget, anyway."

"I would like to know," Obi-Wan persisted, gaze unwavering and feet firmly planted on the carpet. There was the accompanying urge to plant his hands on his hips, but he resisted.

Vader uncrossed his legs and casually threw his arms behind the sofa. "There's a great many things I would like to know, too. But the galaxy is a cruel mistress."

"What do you want, Vader?" Obi-Wan asked wearily. He could all too clearly see where this was going. Was nothing free?

"You. On my lap. Now."

"You can't be serious."

Vader crossed his arms. "I guess you don't want to know as much as you say you do. Kids are never able to make up their minds."

Obi-Wan felt his insides crawl. It seemed pointless to ask again, but he did anyway. "Why are you doing this?"

"You never understood me, did you, Master?" Vader answered instead, rising from the sofa and stalking forwards.

Obi-Wan was unsure how long he was going to survive his mercurial temperament until he cracked himself. But he stood his ground, as Vader loomed over him, using his physical height alone as a means of intimidation.

"It's been a long time since I was your master, Anakin." The words were soft and sad. Obi-Wan hiding nothing of his feelings. Another wave of tiredness washing over his beleaguered body as he said it. The words alone acting to deflate him.

"Six point two years," Vader said quietly. "You were only in the tank a couple of days before I pulled you out. The growth rate was remarkable, something to do with your midi-chlorian count. I imagine they'd have cloned me in half the time."

"I see," Obi-Wan said, for lack of anything better to offer. Well at least he had one answer.

A few seconds passed as Obi-Wan tried to muster his old humour. "I think your timing was a little off," he said at last, knowing he'd missed the transport ship but needing to say it anyway to prove he was still Obi-Wan Kenobi, still the old Jedi Master of the dry humour, stiff upper lip and quick quip.

The truth is supposed to set you free, he reflected sadly. Yet, hearing it did the opposite. Obi-Wan felt smaller. He felt heavier too, though he was undoubtedly lighter now. Having the knowledge of his actual age was cold comfort in the end. The reality of his situation bearing down upon with an intensity that had been lacking at the facility.

Six years old, Kenobi. Six! You haven't even made double figures. Though you should have guessed as much before now. Force, help you. Six!

A chuckle. "You try so hard, don't you?"

Obi-Wan hung his head, finally lacking the strength to keep it lifted. Sith, but he'd never felt this tired in his entire life, and that was saying a lot given his exhausting career.

Vader dropped to his haunches, putting them almost, but not quite, at head height. "I'm putting you to bed now, Obi-Wan. Are you going to make this difficult?"

Obi-Wan didn't look up to meet his eyes. His body was becoming heavy, his thoughts sluggish.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you!" Vader shouted. The raw power of his shout blowing his fringe from his forehead.

Obi-Wan lifted his eyes in a compromise. "No. I..."

It was so hard to hold on. Obi-Wan knee's slowly buckled, the sensation of soft carpet on his legs a massive relief to his overtaxed body.

It would not be long now before he passed out. Desperately he tried to rally the Force, but he was either too tired to make a connection or the Force was being uncooperative again. Obi-Wan suspected the latter. Bugger!

He was certainly far too gone to resist the arms that lifted him into the air, lacking the strength to even offer up token resistance. And that was important, somehow, though the why of it was quite beyond recall.

Vader was speaking, but the words were delayed with Obi-Wan making sense of his sentences a short time after he heard them. "I haven't a room prepared just yet, so you'll sleep in my bed. I'll take the sofa."

"Mm, how..." Obi-Wan made an inarticulate sound after, head beginning to loll dangerously upon Vader's outstretched arms, until the Sith Lord tucked his head into the crook of his arm.

Obi-Wan distantly registered the warm hand at the small of his back holding him in place. Safe. Secure. Yet, not. That was his last impression as sleep staked its claim a third time.


End file.
